


"Where I stood"

by Tussilago_Farfara



Series: After dark [1]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade
Genre: Gang Rape, M/M, Rape, Underage Prostitution, Vampires, Violence, apologies for the in-universe lingo, this is isn't quite finished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tussilago_Farfara/pseuds/Tussilago_Farfara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A background story for one of my "Vampire: The Masquerade" characters.</p><p>The story is set in New York city (around 2006/2007) and follows Raphael Hatchet, a skater punk, before and after being turned into a vampire. Raphael's motives for agreeing to be turned are simple: He wants to live long enough to see next year. And not get broken in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. "And rain fell upon the earth forty days and forty nights..."

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, well, technically, this is not a story, but snippets from Raphael's past.  
> I'll post them in chronological order, though.
> 
> This is the first time I've ever published anything, I have no idea if my writing is any good.  
> Also, English is not my first language.  
> Be nice, yeah?
> 
> The story title is from the Missy Higgins song of the same name.

The street light changed to green and he crossed the street, inelegantly hopping over the small river filling the gutter. The forecast had said the rain would stop in the evening, instead it was coming down harder and harder. Raphael was drenched, his back and feet hurt, and he just wanted to be inside somewhere. The last few nights had been bad, there hadn`t been enough jobs to really keep him going.  
He spotted the green rails of a subway station and decided to go undergound. He flanked over the ticket barrier and hopped onto the train at the last possible moment. Down here he was in danger of getting caught by the transit cops, but it was dry, and marginally warmer. He was going to enjoy it as long as it would last.  
He sat down on a forward facing bench, turned his MP3-Player on and leaned his head against the window. Listening to CCR, he watched other passengers through half-closed lids. He liked watching commuters. So many types of people. Average Joes and managers. Family persons, students, stoners. Some real weirdos. Like the guy a few rows in front of him. Head haloed by wispy white hair, some strands bound with pink scrunchies, a plastic raincoat in a violent shade of yellow, bare legs and neon-green rain boots. Okay. Raphael entertained himself with wondering what the guy was wearing underneath the coat. If he was wearing anything underneath. Yikes.  
After about half an hour, he saw a pair of transit cops coming through the car in front. Well, he had dried some at least. Time to get out.  
He emerged from the station and dusk was falling. Lights were coming on all around him, and the rain had finally diminished to a drizzle. He hadn`t paid attention to the stations and took a moment to get his bearings. He spotted a familiar red neon cross in the distance and decided to try to get himself employed. The club was called "Junction" and an easy spot to pick up people. Even better, this early, you could get in for free.

* * *

Raphael stretched, reveling in the feel of clean cotton sheets. He was clean, he was warm, he was fed. And sated. He turned on his side, and watched Sterling. The man was already asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly. He had gotten lucky with this guy. The best he could usually hope for was that they didn`t cheat him out of his money, and that they didn`t get too rough. That wasn`t a concern here. He even liked Sterling. He was about fifteen years older, but in great shape. That surely helped. But there was more. He was decent. He was gentle, and he actually seemed to think that Raphael was entitled to satisfaction as well. To top it off, he was generous beyond that. It was the third time Raphael had gone home with him, and each time, he`d gotten washed and fed, and he could spent the night. He could get used to that. Only it wasn`t how things went most of the time. But this night, they had, and everything else could wait until tomorrow. He snuggled up to Sterling and his warmth, and soon went under.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> Genesis 7:12.
> 
>  
> 
> I've written this largely for myself or the other members of my roleplaying group, who are of course familiar with all the special terms and concepts. If there's anything you don't understand, ask away and I'll be happy to explain!


	2. "Turn, turn, turn"

Maybe things were improving. Or maybe they weren`t. Given a bit of time, he was probably going to feel better, but so far... The temperature had dropped and standing in line to get into the club, he was shivering in his thin hoodie. He actually had the money now to get a thick jacket, and even more to buy some halfway decent meals, but it had come at a price. He had spent a night with Adrian, and that meant sacrifice. He hadn`t bled, and none of his limbs had been dislocated, but he still hurt all over, his left leg occassionally giving out under him so that he was limping. It would heal, but it would be a miserable few nights until then.  
His thoughts were sidetracked when a gorgeous black classic Mustang pulled into the the parking lot a few meters in front of him, and the driver got out. The man made him look twice: tall and lanky with thick, short, pure white hair, despite a rather young face. He went into the club, bypassing the line.  
Raphael admired the car, the sleek lines and matte paint job. Nice ride, that one.  
Half an eternity later, he was finally inside. Gradually warming up again, he cruised the crowd, not really looking for a job but unable to shed the already ingrained behaviour. With one eye still on the dancefloor, he sauntered down the stairs to the restrooms, and promptly collided with another customer, hard. Fighting for balance, he half-yelled an apology. It would be the only way the other heard. When he looked up, he saw he had crashed into the white-haired guy who had driven the Mustang. The guy nodded absently and walked on without a second glance. Suit yourself, then. Raphael stayed where he was for a moment, rubbing his shoulder that hurt from the impact. Damn, how could a human body be so hard? Watching his step as he descended further, he saw something glint in a burst from the stroboscope light. He bent down and came up with a ring of keys. Car keys. With a little pendant in the shape of a running horse. It was almost too good to be true. Without thinking further, he pocketed the keys and left the club. He went straight to the matte black Mustang, opened the door, slipped in and started the engine. It roared to life, and he pulled out of the lot, getting away from the owner as fast as possible. A grin spread across his face. The car vibrated underneath him with barely reigned-in power, it`s movements prompt and smooth. This was going to be a ride. He sped along the highway, idly wondering whether to just leave the car in a parking lot later or maybe to flog it. Nah, this baby was way too noticeable. So it was abandonment. But not for a while. Not for quite a while.

Standing in the lobby of the club, Izar heard his Mustang`s familiar roar over the music and dashed outside. He saw the car`s tail dissappear into traffic. For a moment he simply stood and stared, too stunned to even curse. Who the hell would dare to steal his car? Well, one way to find out. He noticed the general direction his treasure was being taken, and went into the next dark side alley. He felt an evil grin split his face as the change came over him. That particular thief was in for a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> The Byrd's song of the same title.


	3. "Have a Coke and a smile"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's violence in this chapter. No idea whether this already counts as graphic.

Balancing on the verge of a roof top, back in his four-limbed lean frame, Izar watched the car snatcher. That little bastard. He was leaning against the fender, alternately sipping from a coke bottle and taking drags on a cigarette. Anger was simmering in Izar`s veins, fueled by the almost two-hour-long chase the human child had led him on through the city and over the highway. And it was a child. His loose, punky clothes and studded leather collar couldn`t quite compensate for the long blond hair and smooth face. Izar doubted he was even of age.  
He had parked on the cracked concrete of an abandoned parking lot, the next street light was a good distance away and there was nobody around. Perfect. No witnesses for this retribution. He began to climb down the fire escape without a sound. 

Raphael took another deep draw. He decided to leave the car somewhere near where he had acquired it, as soon as he finished his cigarette and cola. The latter had been a sheer indulgence on his part. But hey. The session with Adrian might have given him bruises and sore muscles in places he didn`t know he had muscles, but it had left him with a nice fat wad of bills. He finished his cigarette and was stepping it out when he heard footsteps approaching. He turned and saw three guys coming directly at him. Since there was nothing and no one else in the lot, this could only mean trouble. They fanned out and came to a stop in a half circle around him. The similar clothes and attitude gave them the air of gang members. Odds were good that they were carrying something more than knives. Adrenaline flooded his body, eradicating the pain and substituting it with alert.  
"Nice ride, dude", said the one in the middle.  
"Bit too nice for some punk like you, ain`t it? Maybe we should take to a more fitting new owner?" added the guy to the left.  
Raphael didn`t bother to answer immediately, instead he leaned down and smashed the bottom of the coke bottle against the concrete. He came up again, smiling, holding the jagged bottle end like a knife.  
"Try."  
The guys hesitated, clearly not having anticipated a lot of resistance. Raphael used that moment, going for the one on the right. He made a sweeping motion, and slashed open the arm that the man lifted for defense. The guy screamed and lowered that arm, opening his face to solid left hook that probably broke his nose. Raphael turned instantly, a low growl coming from his chest. The next attacker`s eyes were wide, but he had drawn a knife. Without any regard to possible injury on his own part Raphael went into the other one`s range, kicked at his knife arm and struck with the bottle. The knife grazed his leg but went flying, the glass shards hit the other`s shoulder and stuck. He turned for the last one, attacking him with bare hands. His opponent was visibly perplexed by the fate of the other two, but he still put up quite a fight. He tried to pull something from the waistband of his jeans, a knife, or, more probably, a gun, but Raphael kept him busy with throwing punches. Then the man tried to pull on his lip ring, and he managed to bite down on the probing hand hard enough to draw blood. Yelling in pain, the other drew back, and got hit in the balls hard by Raphael`s knee. He collapsed, his scream turning into a choke.  
"Get lost. This instant", Raphael snarled. The first two, both bleeding copiously, helped up the third, and they disappeared into the night as fast as they could. Which wasn`t very.  
Raphael stood and watched them go. When he was sure they were gone, he examined the cut on his leg. It was shallow, but he still used his bandanna as makeshift bandage for it. He turned back to the car and yelped in surprise: The white-haired driver – and presumably owner – of the Mustang stood leaning against the driver`s door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> Advertising slogan of Coca Cola from 1979 to 1982.


	4. "You don`t know what you can get away with until you try."

The guy seemed totally at ease. Arms crossed over his chest, he was smiling wryly. But the pose was belied by the anger glinting in his blue eyes. Raphael wished he hadn`t lost the coke bottle and remembered the knife he had kicked away. Then again, maybe the guy was satisfied with getting his car back. Yeah, right. He backed up a few steps, looking out the corner of his eye for the blade.  
"You will not get to that knife in time", the driver said. His was voice was deep and hoarse, sounding like years of whiskey and cigarettes.  
"Maybe I´m just looking for an escape route", Raphael shot back.  
"You will not get away, either." That was when he really started to worry. This could end badly.  
"Hey dude, you`ve got your car back, and all you`ve lost is some gas. No need to overreact."  
"Did nobody ever teach you that all your actions have consequences?" Instead of an answer, Raphael wheeled around and started to sprint away. Or that was what he intended to do, anyway. Before he had managed a full step, his legs got pulled from under him. He slammed onto the ground hard, glass shards of the bottle biting into his hands, forearms and face. The guy was over him, somehow managing to get atop of him and turning him on his back in one single motion. "Why would I let you get away? You have stolen my car. You should pay for that."  
With one corner of his panicking mind Raphael registered that he had said 'should', not 'will'. Maybe he could still talk his way out of this one. "I just borrowed it. I didn`t want to keep it or sell it" – well, he hadn`t considered it for long, anyway – "I just wanted to drive it."  
"Why?"   
"Why? Well, it`s a Mustang." The owner waited, one white eyebrow rising when he didn`t elaborate. "Nice try. While I appreciate the esteem of my car, borrowing without asking is still stealing. So I should lambast you."  
"You should... what?"  
"Lambast", came the slightly exasperated repeat. "Thrash. Rough up. Give a hiding. Beat up. Choose one." Confused, Raphael asked: "So what keeps you?"  
"Good question." The man got up, leaned down again, grabbed Raphael`s wrists and pulled him up in a smooth, almost gentle motion. He didn`t let go, though. "I have seen you fight. I was about to come and get you when those three... gentlemen interfered. I thought they would do my job. And you proved me wrong. It has been a while since I have seen someone fight with such abandonment. You did not care about your possible injuries, about the odds being three to one. You went in full steam ahead. I like that." He released Raphael`s arms. "Consider it your lucky day. You get away with the joy ride because you amused me. And if you ever lay a hand on my car again, I will turn you inside out." He got into the car, put it into reverse to avoid the glass shards and pulled out of the parking lot.

Raphael stood in the empty lot for a long time, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. He had fought three guys with a ferocity he hadn`t known he possessed. He had been all instinct and reflexes. And he had escaped retribution for the theft for reasons he didn`t get. The strange guy could have done him in, easily. He shuddered when he recalled how the man had appeared practically out of thin air, without a sound, and the ease with which he had tackled him. That guy was dangerous on a level that was new to Raphael. Not only was he sure that the last threat hadn`t been an empty one, but also that it had been literal.  
Shuddering, he limped into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> Ascribed to Colin Powell.


	5. "I'm beat, I'm torn, shattered and tossed and worn"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is where the rape tags come in.  
> Should you be triggered by something like this, probably better skip this chapter.

Raphael lay on the floor, desperately fighting tears. It wasn't the pain, although there was plenty of that. It wasn't entirely out of fear, either. Not to make a mistake, he had probably never been more afraid in his life, and terror was a feeling he was pretty used to, so it took something to intimidate him. No, in the end, it was humiliation more than anything that made his eyes sting, lying here trussed up, his blood soaking into the shabby carpet, his wounds burning, and the guys completely ignoring him, one of them using his battered body as a footrest, and watching fucking _television_.  
I'm going to die. They'll finish watching TV, and they'll start again, and on some point, they'll get bored and they'll kill me. Raphael wasn't sure whether to be scared or comforted by that thought. His usual survival instincts were having a hard time making themselves known, when dying would mean an end to the pain, the terror, the degradation.  
He lay there, feeling his eyes tear up despite him willing them not to. It wasn't so much that they had hurt him, plenty of people did. But they had frightened him more than anything yet had, threatening him with everything they could think of. Raphael felt the tears spill over and run over his face. And now they had made him cry, when so little else would.  
Suddenly, the volume of the TV died down. He was turned over on his back by a foot. The blond guy was standing over him, smiling at his tears. Raphaels heart skipped a beat and then started racing: He was smoking again. No, no, no! The man crouched down and straddled Raphaels hips. Raphael whined behind the rag in his mouth when the guy took a very deep draw on his cigarette, letting the tip glow a bright yellow. And then he screamed when it touched his skin. And he knew it wouldn't end there. Oh no, this was just foreplay.  
Maybe dying wasn't so bad after all.

Out. Out of here. It was the only thing he could think of. He had to get out. Out of the basement, out the house. Outside where there were people. Where there had to be other people. But it was so hard. He hurt so much, every last part of his body hurt, either battered or cramped so bad that he could hardly move at all. But he had to. He had managed to crawl to the stairs, wondering for the thousandth time why they had untied him before they left. He half expected them to return at any moment, laughing at his feeble escape attempts, all of it just another cruel joke like so many before. But still, he had to try. He pulled himself forward and whimpered when the burns on his hip bone dragged over the carpet. He stared up the stairs and felt despair roll over him. It was maybe two dozen steps, but it could as well have been the Mount Everest for all his ability to get up there. Another sob broke loose and promtly resulted in a sharp stab of pain from one of his broken ribs. For a while, all he could do was lie there and cry. Get up, you whiny bitch! The voice in his head was almost snarling. Don't make them win. Don't let them have succeeded in breaking you. Get up! He tried. He didn't get up of course, but he managed to heave his body onto the lowest step, despite the pain from his broken ribs, despite his shoulder being dislocated. He heaved himself onto the next step. And then the next. And the next.

* * *

It had taken him the better part of an hour to get up the stairs, and another to make it out of the house and partially down the drive, where he had collapsed eventually, unable to move another inch, even if his life had depended on it. Which it had, actually. It was incredible luck that the Ranger - who then took him to hospital in his jeep - had been taking a short cut along the small access road where the summer house he had been held in was situated. Even more lucky that he had glanced out of his window towards the house, thus spotting the naked, curled up figure lying on the gravel drive.  
The doctor later told him that he had come very close to dying from dehydration and hypothermia. Raphael had managed to smile at him, saying he was getting quite good at nearly dying, as it seemed. Not that he had all that much to smile about. He had a multitude of injuries, none life-threatening, but quite nasty. Beside the shoulder and ribs, there were cigarette burns, knife cuts, contusions, rope-burns in his wrists and ankles, an assortment of other abrasions, not to mention torn tissue in some very intimate places.  
It would all heal. It always did. After all, what were a few more scars? The new ones wouldn't stand out, neither those on his body nor those on his soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> From Cat Stevens - Trouble.


	6. "I sleep with the scars I wear that won't heal. They won't heal...  and the pain stays the same."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, okay, I just noticed I haven't finished this chapter yet. Oops.  
> For sake of continuity, I'll leave it in, and update as soon as I've written it.
> 
> It's supposed to be about Izar actually offering to turn Raphael.

Izar leaned against the display window, watching the rain cascade off the shop's awning. People hurried by under umbrellas, newspapers and hoods, others had found dry spots like his own and were waiting for the rain to stop or at least diminish. It wasn't cold, exactly, but cool enough to make it uncomfortable to be wet. Well, for a human, anyway.  
He didn't pay to much attention to another pedestrian joining him under the small roof at first, but than the gleam of fair blond from the corner of his eye made him turn his head. Well I'll be damned. It's the little car thief. Izar was pretty sure he himself wouldn't be recognized, as his white hair was hidden by a knit cap, so he surreptitiously watched the kid.  
He had been more intrigued by the ferocious little fighter than he would have thought at first. The instinctual reactions when the gang members had attacked him had been remarkable. Not to mention the fact that the youngster had quite some fighting skills. There was more to it than that, though. The kid's comments had proved he was quick-thinking, and the fact that he had nicked the car in the first place was proof of a good amount of audacity, as well. All in all someone he could have liked, it seemed... Okay, he needed to stop that. He was thinking about Siring a Child, but that kid? He couldn't be old enough to drive. Turning someone that young meant giving them an eternity where almost everybody would treat them as non-adult, which would get annoying very quickly. Besides, having grown up in these times he would probably be hard to convince to take the offer seriously at all. People just didn't believe in the supernatural anymore. You had to be able to offer them more than their lives would ever give them, and unlike other Kindred, Izar thought that could prove a difficult task these days.  
Then again, that might not be that hard here. The blond punk looked like he had recently been put through a meat grinder. His face was a mass of brusies in every colour, his left arm was strapped to his torso with a contraption that suggested a dislocated shoulder, and the way the kid moved – or didn't move – and his shallow breathing spoke of other injuries.  
"So, you tried to steal a car again?" he asked before he knew it.  
The kid's head whipped around – eliciting a wince – and he stared at Izar. After a few seconds, recognition dawned on his face. The Gangrel was surprised, then mentally shook himself. He had forgotten his hoarse voice was about as distinctive as his hair.  
"Funny", the kid said, acidly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> Roxette - Crash Boom Bang.


	7. "At night I wake up with the sheets soaking wet and a freight train running through the middle of my head..."

Raphael came out of the darkness, screaming. It took him a full two minutes to realize it was a nightmare he'd been having, that he 'd been asleep. When his screams slowly subsided, he became aware of someone talking to him. A light came on, illuminating a bewildered and concerned Sterling sitting next to him, trying to sooth him with words. Thankfully only with words. The man looked like he wanted to embrace him, hold him. Raphael recoiled from the very thought. At the moment, he couldn't bear it. But Sterling stayed away, and gradually, Raphael's heartbeat and breathing slowed.  
After a while, Sterling stood up and made to leave the room.  
"No, stay!" Raphael burst out. "Please."  
"I'm just getting something to drink. Hush. I'll be back in a minute."  
Five minutes later they were sitting side by side, leaning against the headboard. Raphaels hands were wrapped around a cup of tea.  
"You really don't mind me staying?" Sterling asked.  
"No. I don't want to be alone. I want company. I just don't... want to be... touched."  
He looked up, afraid to have offended, but the man surprised him with a lopsided smile.  
"So I figured."  
"Huh?"  
"Well, when you first started screaming, I tried to hold you, cause you you were trashing about. Only it made things worse. You went ballistic, and I let go when you hit me."  
"Oh no! I hit you? I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to..."  
"Shh, it's okay. Of course you didn't mean to, you were having a nightmare. For your information, I don't break that easily. Although I have to say, for someone so scrawny you can pack quite a punch."  
"Sorry. It's usually not that bad."  
"Have them often?"  
Raphael just shrugged. He really didn't want to get into detail on this one. The memory of those nights was too fresh. Some of the wounds weren't even quite healed yet.  
"Sorry. I didn't mean to intrude."  
"You're not. It's just... I can't talk about it. Not yet." Maybe not ever.  
"Hey, that's okay. I can tell you've had some hard times, and most people around here wouldn't want to talk about it."  
Raphael looked sideways at Sterling, who smiled.  
"Kid, I may be old, but I'm not blind yet. Your scars are kind of hard not to notice. And they don't look the kind you get in accidents, or at least most of them don't. But you keep your stories, that's alright with me. I don't need to know." He was silent for a moment, and then seemed to come to a decision and went on.  
"Listen, I know it's probably none of my business, but you seem to have gotten on the wrong side of people lately. I guess in your line of work, that happens sooner or later, at least with looks like yours. Someday, that will go really wrong. You know someone could kill you, right?"  
"There's a lot of things out there that could kill me", Raphael replied uneasy.  
"You don't even have a roof over head normally, do you?"  
"What's that gotta do with anything?"  
"Maybe I'm trying to cut down on the things that could kill you. I can't do anything about the people, but I can do something about the cold, and the hunger. So, if you need a place to stay, even just for a night or two, to get out of the cold, or the rain, come here. You can stay, get clean, get fed. I don't want anything out of this."  
He held up a hand when Raphael started to interrupt him.  
"No, I don't want to hear it. I know you don't believe me. You don't have to. Just keep it in mind. And come around if you need to." He stretched out under the covers again. "That settled, you alright with the lights out? 'Cause I really need some sleep."  
Raphael nodded and slid down into the sheets. He doubted he could go back to sleep, but there was no need to keep Sterling up.  
And no, he didn't believe him. Nobody ever did things for free. They all wanted something out of it. Then again, the most likely price for Sterling was what he was getting anyway. Raphael didn't mind having sex with him, hell, most of the time, he enjoyed it. He woudn't mind doing it more frequently, especially not if he would get a place to stay for it, even only for some nights. Well, he would see.  
As it turned out, he could go back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> Bruce Springsteen - I'm on fire.


	8. "Come, as you are, as you were, as I want you to be"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For explanation: Raphaels Sire is usually called Izar, but his given name is Gabriel. I use both names in this chapter, basically because it's from Raphael's point of view, and having gotten to know his Sire's real name, he uses it along with the nickname in his head.

"I really thought you knew." Raphael was standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb. His Sire-to-be sat at the kitchen table, silent, not looking at him. Raphael winced.  
"Can we talk about this, at least?" he asked, hating his pleading tone but unable to keep it out of his voice. "God, I get now this was a surprise, but are you really so shocked about this?" His voice grew very quiet. "Are you really so disgusted?"  
"I'm not disgusted."  
Raphael snorted. "You can't even look at me."  
Izar lifted his head and met his eyes, and there was an expression on his face the kid couldn't fathom.  
"I am not disgusted. At least not with you."  
Raphael decided to take the talking as a good sign and came into the room, leaning on the chair opposite from Gabriel.  
"With what, then?"  
"The implications. With the people out there who would actually pay you for sex. That is sick."  
"Tell me about it", Raphael said, a bitter smile on his face. "For the record, not all of them are creeps." Izar raised an eyebrow at that, looking incredulous, but the kid insisted. "They aren't. Okay, yeah, it is kind of twisted, I mean I know what I look like, but honestly, I'm not going to complain about getting money for something I would do anyway."  
"You would?"  
Raphael had a second to worry about being so honest, but since keeping facts to himself had led to this trouble, it seemed better to get the facts on the table once and for all, and see what came from it. He went on.  
"Yeah, I would. I kinda like older men. And hell yeah, I like having sex. I'm a teenager, for fuck's sake. Ain't the moral implications of hustling I'm worried about." He considered. "Are you?"  
To his surprise, and relief, Izar smiled.  
"Actually, no. Morale is very ambigious concept at the best of times. One man's meat is another man's poison, and all that." He stared into Raphaels green eyes for a while. "Guess we all do what we have to to survive."  
It wasn't quite absolution, but there seemed to be a chance.  
"Can I ask you something?" Izar nodded. "Well, with the places you've met me, and the times of night... and well, you knew I was living pretty much on the streets, right?" Another nod. "So, with all these things... what on earth did you think I was doing for a living?"  
Gabriel had the grace to look slightly ashamed.  
"I'm afraid I have to admit I didn't think much about it all. Didn't seem to matter much. And as long as you didn't exactly throw it into my face... Serves me right, I guess."  
The silence stretched while Raphael tried to work up the courage to ask the next question, though he wasn't at all sure he wanted to know the answer. But he had to.  
"Does it change anything?"  
"About what?"  
"About you wanting to change me. Not that I want to back out, but I guess I could understand if you didn't want a whore for a Child." He tried to keep his voice even, keep out the hurt about to come should Izar confim the last part of his sentence. If he had been looking for a closure, he was going to be dissappointed, though.  
"Ask me tomorrow", was all he heard. Back stiff in sheer self-defence, Raphael turned and went to collect his jacket from the hall, trying desperately to contain his hurt long enough to get out. He didn't break down until he was well on his way to Sterling's hotel. He sat on a park bench, feeling plain miserable. It was almost funny. It was usually a lot harder to bring him down like that. And along comes that whitehaired son of a bitch, doing nothing more than dangle the possibility of something better than his current wretched life in front of his nose, and he had to go and grow attached to him enough that he would actually give a fuck about the bastard's opinion. Served him right for being trusting.  
He suddenly decided that he wasn't in the mood to explain his state to Sterling, no matter how nice the guy usually was about it. He just wasn't ready to admit to that other soft spot of his. There was an seldom used, dilapidated tool shed somewhere in the park behind him, where he had spent nights before. It would serve him well again. And he wasn't softened enough by a few nights in a row in a real bed that he would mind sleeping on bare concrete.  
Or so he tried to tell himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> Nirvana - Come as you are.


	9. "... is threat'ning my very life today, gimme, gimme shelter or I'm gonna fade away."

The Mustang sped along the highway, approaching the city from the north. Izar flicked a gaze towards his Child. Raphael's head was leaning against the window, his eyes closed in exhaustion. Dawn was nearing, and the night had been... eventful. Izar smiled to himself. The kid had done well on his first get-together, all in all. As usual, he hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut, but he had kept his comments on the light side; and while he wasn't very articulate that way, the others had been able to tell that he was at least trying to be polite. The kid sighed and opened his eyes. "We there yet?" Izar winced at the grammar - if you could call it that -, but he was too tired himself to correct him.  
"No. I guess we will need another thirty minutes at least, probably forty-five."  
"That's gonna be close, right?"  
"We will make it, but we will not have time for anything but getting into bed."  
"Crap. I could use a shower. And a change of clothes."  
"So could I. But I would rather be inside before sunrise and dirty than outside and clean", Izar replied wryly.  
"Where we coming into the city?"  
"North-east. Why?"  
"You take the Jersey 'spressway, we could be in Highbridge a lot sooner than we could be in the Village."  
"So?"  
"So I live in Highbridge", the kid said slowly, like he was explaining something very obvious. "We could spend the night in my place. That would give us enough time for a shower at least."  
"I thought you only had one room?"  
Raphael looked at him askance. When he answered, his voice was flat. "That's right. I know it ain't much, but it's enough room for two, at least for one night. If you can stand sharing, that is." There was silence for a minute until Izar realized he had just affronted Raphael. "My apologies. I did not mean offense. I just did not know wether you would want to share."  
"Oh." The child pondered that. "Okay. Well then. Summit Avenue."

* * *

"Honestly?" Izar asked Raphael when they pulled into the parking lot. He nodded towards the neon sign that proclaimed "Hotel Paradise". The place wasn't the worst Izar had seen, not by a long shot, but it was pretty rundown, and any hostel in this part of the city with such a name was a joke. Raphael just grinned and shrugged.  
He led his Sire round the back, unlocking a door at the end of a few stairs leading down. They went down a corridor that seemed to be the service part. Taking in the surroundings, Izar reconsidered. While the exterior of the hotel was seedy, the interior seemed to be maintained fairly well. The kid unlocked another door halfway down the corridor. "Welcome to my humble abode", he said sarcastically, letting Izar go first, who took a good look around. The room fortunately didn't have a window, but it really wasn't large. On the left side of the door there were a couple of brackets set into the wall serving as a coat rack as well as holding Raphaels skateboard, a pair of rollerblades, the protectors and a hockey stick. Next to that, along the left wall, was a book case overflowing with comics and paperbacks, most of them stripped of their covers. The remaining space on that side was occupied by a narrow bed. To the right there was dresser and a scuffed leather couch. Straight ahead, a small desk sat against the wall, a banged-up laptop and more books sitting on it. The bed wasn't made, there were more stacks of books scattered on every surface, and the folding box serving as a hamper behind the door was overflowing. But that was all there was in terms of chaos. Reasonably neat for a teenager. And a lot cleaner that one would have expected.  
"And it's safe?" he asked.  
"Pretty much. This door and the one leading outside are solid and have good locks, and no one has access to the whole corridor but Sterling and me."  
"That is the owner?"  
"Yup. He's got a key to this room, but he don't come unasked." Raphael passed him. "I'll show you the shower in a moment, and I guess I can dig up some clothes that would fit you." He wasn't that much shorter than his Sire, after all. He took the bedding and sheets of the bed and threw them on the couch. Izar frowned. "What are you doing?" Raphael glanced up, looking slightly offended. "There's no way I'm gonna make you sleep in my used sheets", he explained, dignified. Well, who would have thought. Sometimes, the youngster surprised him. "Come on, shower's next door." He went out, and made a detour to the room opposite his own, coming back with with a stack of towels. The room next door was a tiny but complete bathroom, with cracked tiles and flickering neon lights. Raphael left, and Izar peeled his soiled clothes off. He wasn't sure they were salvagable. The dirt wasn't the problem, but there were bloodstains on them as well, and since he couldn't get them cleaned before tomorrow, they were probably beyond repair. Well, hell.  
Ten minutes later, he emerged, clean and relaxed. He dried himself off, used a second towel for his hair and his tail, wrapped it around his waist and went back to Raphaels room. He felt a lot better. Amazing what hot water and soap could do.  
His Child had been busy. He had organized a second set of bedding and sheets, and made up the bed. He handed him a plain black T-shirt and a pair of drawstring pants. "Here, that should do until tomorrow." Izar pulled them on and found they fit. While Raphael took his turn showering, Izar had a second look around, which mostly consisted of examining the contents of the bookshelf. He knew Raphael liked to read, odd as that seemed, but he was still surprised by the sheer number of books. There was nothing really in the sense of high literature, but apart from that, they had a wide range in themes. It was quite clear, however, that the kid's favourites were horror and crime. He took a really long time showering, and there was still a bit time until sunrise, so Izar pulled a book from the shelf and settled on the bed to read.  
After almost half an hour, dawn already underway, Raphael came back, like Izar before with a towel round his waist, locking the door behind him. Yawning, he pulled some clothes from the dresser and put them on, his back to his Sire. Izar watched, taking in the scars covering the back of the child's torso, arms and legs. He had glimpsed them before, but never from this near. He had gotten the impression that Raphael didn't have a problem with nudity in itself, quite the contrary, but that he didn't like exposing his scars. Small wonder. There an awful lot of them, and by their shape and position, you could tell most of them had originated in violence. He probably wouldn't have undressed in front of him if it hadn't been for the small space. Or maybe he was already so tired that he hadn't noticed. Izar made sure his gaze was his book again when Raphael turned. The kid slouched to the couch, collapsed onto it and curled up on his side. He wouldn't have fitted outstretched. "Bed long enough for you?" he asked sleepily. Izar, who felt the pull of sleep getting stronger as well, put the book on the desk and stretched out under the sheets. "Yes. Quite. Unlike yours."  
Raphael smiled. "I'm good."  
"I bet, considering the time you spent in the shower.You probably used up all the hot water." He was answered by a snort. "Did not. Took me so long to throw our clothes into the washer." He yawned again. "The laundry room is in another corridor." Another surprise. The child was really quite considerate. He wanted to thank him, but Raphael had already fallen asleep. Izar turned off the light and followed suit.

* * *

The light from the desk lamp flooded the small room when Izar opended his eyes the next evening. It took him a split second to remember he'd spent the night at Raphael's den. The kid had obviously just turned on the light, he was still standing in front of the desk, wearing boxers and a T-shirt. "Hey", he rasped in the way of greeting.  
"And a good evening to you, too", Izar replied, smiling. A morning person, his Child was not. Or evening person, actually. Barefoot, Raphael padded towards the door and unlocked it.  
"Where are you going?"  
"Check on our clothes. Chuck them into the dryer." He opened the door. "Well hey. That's nice." He bent down and came back into the room, carrying a stack of neatly folded clothes that had obviously been sitting on the floor just outside the door. "Surprise!" he said and handed Izar half of the stack. They were his own clothes. Clean and dry.  
"How the hell...?"  
"Sterling, I guess. Man keeps odd hours. Probably saw them sitting in the washer this morning and dried them. Like I said, he's the only who comes into this corridor."  
"But how did he know they were yours to begin with?"  
Raphael shrugged. "He knows my stuff. And there's probably no one else in the whole friggin' hotel who would wash that early."  
"Not that I'm complaining, mind." Izar unfolded the clothes and was surprised to see that the stains had disappeared completely. He pulled them on and was enveloped by the smell of laundry detergent and softener. There was something to be said for modern domestic appliances. "Give my thanks to your Sterling, would you?"  
Raphael grinned. "He ain't mine. But yeah, I will. So, what now? I would invite you for breakfast, but I'm kinda short on supplies." His grin widened.  
Izar declined. "I need to get home, anyway. This detour really messed up my schedule for today." He inclined his head towards his child.  
"Thank you for sharing your haven with me", he said formally.  
Raphael waved it away. "No problemo. I've been in your house often enough. I'll let you out."  
Which he did, not bothering to dress any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> The Rolling Stones - Gimme shelter.


	10. Crime and punishment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this violence probably does count as graphic.

"So, how bad it's gonna be?" Raphael asked. His voice was tight. For the first time since Izar had known him, he was showing fear.  
"I really do not know", he answered truthfully. "That is for the Prince to decide."  
"Nah, I mean, what can I expect at all? What do vampire punishments look like, anyway?"  
"Medieval." Izar thought about it a moment, and after considering Raphaels education, or rather tremendous lack thereof, he explained: "The current sytem of justice is based on several ideas. First, punishments are supposed to act as deterrent, that means the penalties are supposed to be severe enough to keep the offender and others from committing such a crime again. They can also be a form of compensation, especially in the form of fines. And an emphasis is placed on rehabilitation. Offenders are supposed to see their errors and mend them. But these are very recent ideas. Our dispensation of justice is still very much alike to what it was in the Middle Ages. The main idea there is repentance, which is mostly achieved through physical pain and suffering. Locking a delinquent up is a possibility, usually combined with starving him, but that doesn't seem probable for what you did. Most likely is physical punishment. It could be a whipping, a branding, a mutilation of some sort, like amputating a limb." Raphael cringed, and Izar added: "A maiming would not be permament. You would be forced not to heal any damage done to you for a certain period of time, which is part of the punishment, but in the end, you would be allowed to heal. Your crime doesn't warrant permanent disfigurment."  
"Well, fuck." For once, he did not tell him off for swearing. It pretty much summed the situation up.  
"I really don't think they will cut off something. You have done wrong, but it wasn't that severe."  
"I'm gonna have an audience when I'm punished? In the Dark Ages, hangings and stuff were public, right?" Izar nodded. "Yes they were, and yours very well could be, too."  
"Great, so everybody will know."  
"That is the point. It serves to show that rule breaking goes neither unnoticed nor unpunished. The Prince has to prove constantly that he can keep his subjects in line, or he will lose his station, and so he better does it as publicly as he can. It's not necessarily a bad thing for you, though. Because if the penalty is indeed your repentance, your crime might be forgiven - if not forgotten - after you have accepted your punishment. And everyone who is there to observe it will know that as well."

* * *

The room where Raphael would be prepared for the sentence and its carry-out was bare except for a small table. Besides him and Izar there was only one other person there, the Prince's Seneschal, Daniel DeVere. The man was of average height and lean build, his dark hair neatly brushed back from his face. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and a burgundy shirt without a tie under a charcoal suit.  
"Put your clothes on the table", he said with a very deep voice. Raphael blinked, but started to strip. There was a knock on the door and Gregory Dawson, the Sheriff, stuck his head in. "Gabriel, come." Izar left the room, very lightly touching his Child's elbow in reassurance as he went by. Raphael was grateful for the motion, he felt slightly put off by Izar's leave. DeVere, seeing his frown, said: "Your Sire has his own punishment to face, young one."  
He nodded in thanks at the explanation, trying not to let his insecurity show. Izar hadn't breathed a word of that. He continued to take off his clothes, folding them roughly and putting them on the table.  
"What am I gonna wear instead?" he asked.  
"Your skin", came the amused reply. Not cowed in the least by that, Raphael tried not to grin. He understood quite well that his nudity was probably supposed to add to his humiliation, but he was quite used to being naked in front of strangers, and while he usually didn't like parading his scars around, in this case, they might actually sent a message. Then again it might be the wrong one.  
After a bit of considering and a private talk with Agatha, the Gangrel Primogen, Izar had come to the conclusion that a flogging was the most likely penalty and as far as Raphael had understood, the Sheriff would be dealing out his punishment. The guy was a brute. If he saw the scars, he might rethink his force, thinking him able to take more than initially expected. Well, if so, there was nothing he could do about it.  
He had shed all his clothes and laid them on the table. He took off his collar, put it on top. As an afterthought, he took out his earrings and other piercings as well and made a pile of them on the table. At last, he fished a bandanna out of his pants pocket and used it to tie his dreadlocks up high on his head, to keep them off his back.  
"Anything else?" he asked the Seneschal.  
"No, that will be all." DeVere lightly gripped his upper arm and steered him from the room. The Sheriff was back outside and took his other arm. Izar was nowhere to be seen.

Dawson led the way to a back door which opened to the park deck. "To the left. Syracuse is waiting for you." He went back inside. Izar went in the indicated direction and found the beastly looking Scourge leaning againt a pillar, a very long, thick whip dangling from one massive hand. Without a word, he handed the whip to Izar and pointed to broad wooden post that was supposed to serve as a target. Izar looked down on the whip. It was braided leather, without any atrocities like glass or metal splinters worked into it. Still, it was strong, and wielded with force, it would lay Raphael's back open to the bone. And he would have to use force. The Prince - and anyone else - would be able to tell if he held back, and that would have consequences of his own. He hefted the whip in his right hand, and gave it an experimental flick. He wasn't exactly used to his. After a few tries, Syracuse took the whip back, showing him, wordlessly, how to lash properly. Izar tried again, and the Scourge seemed satisfied. They went back inside together.

Raphael was escorted to the double doors that led to the hall of the Elysium where the bigger gatherings were held. In front of the door, both men let go of him, openend the doors and walked through, now simply staying on his sides, not touching him again. The wide room was well-filled, the Cainites leaving an empty lane down the middle. Raphael kept his head up and his hands on his sides, making no move to cover himself.  
They wanted him naked, they'd get him naked.  
At the end of the walkway, the Prince was sitting in a comfy chair on a slightly raised dais. To his left, Raphael could see a wide post with shackles attached to it. To his right stood a very grim looking Cainite with a very long whip in his hand and Izar. DeVere and Dawson brought him to a halt several steps in front of the Prince, pushing down on his shoulders to make him kneel.  
"My Prince, I present the offender, Raphael Hatchet, of Clan Gangrel, Child of Gabriel Scaife, known as Izar", DeVere intoned. The Prince inclined his head.  
"So hear my verdict. For the discussed crime, the Neonate is sentenced to three dozen lashes of the whip. May the strokes drive out his impudence and impress the need to adhere to our rules.  
Deviating from normal procedure, his punishment will be dealt out by his own Sire, who is thereby given a chance to rectify his own mistake, his failure to instill obedience in his Child."  
Raphael's gaze flicked to Izar, who wouldn't meet his eyes. He could see by set of the man's jaw that he was gritting his teeth. But Raphael inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He could deal a lot better with Izar lashing him than he could have with the Sheriff, or that animal holding the whip. He looked at the instrument. It was a plain length of leather. He could take that. Better a whip than a belt. Belts had buckles, and those really hurt when they struck. He wasn't given the chance to get more than a cursory glance though, because he was roused and led to the post, his wrists fastenend to the shackles above his head and to the side of the post by Dawson and the beast-like man, who had given the whip to Izar. The shackles were set directly into the wood rather than dangling from pieces of chains. Raphael wondered at that, but when he was secured, he could see that thus he would be unable to make use of his claws. His back to the room, he turned his head to see what was happening. Izar took up a position behind him, far enough away to use the whip's full length. The Prince' voice filled the room again.  
"Syracuse, you will count."  
Raphael turned his head back towards the post, leaning his forehead against the smooth wood. He tried to relax his body, knowing the lashing would be easier on him if he didn't tense up. He thought that his bearing through this ordeal would be important. He was confident that he could take the flogging without passing out, he certainly would try his best not to scream. He was used to pain, and he knew he could endure a lot. He wasn't at all sure he could keep the Beast in check, though. He had the nasty feeling that it would reduce what little standing he had left if he lost it and fell into Frenzy.  
His thoughts were cut short by the hissing sound of the whip and the sudden fire lashing across his back. He almost cried out from sheer surprise. Goddammit, but that hurt! Even the first blow had had enough force to open his back, cutting the flesh deeply.  
"One." The voice was more a growl, but it was clear and loud nonetheless. So Syracuse was the brute who had stood beside Izar.  
He didn't have time to brace himself before the second stroke. Another line of fire started to burn beneath the first. "Two."  
As the blows were falling rapidly, Raphael made an effort not to brace himself anymore. He simply let the pain come, acknowledging it rather than trying to ignore it. He wished his lungs hadn't stopped working. He could have breathed into the pain, losing himself in it, be permeated by it. Then again, since he didn't have to breath, it was easier not to scream.  
Which became more and more difficult after the first full dozen lashes. His back had been opened by every single lash, he could feel the braided leather hit his bones. Thin rivulets of blood trickled down his skin. The Beast inside him roared, pulling against its restraints. It wanted to rip, tear, drain. Kill. Raphael fought, harder that he'd ever had. He would not lose it, he just _wouldn't_.  
After the second dozen, the world had shrunk around him. All that mattered was the need to keep the Beast reined in, to remain standing on his own two feet instead of hanging from the shackles by his wrists. It was too much. He couldn't keep it all in anymore. He started to hiss in pain with every lash.

"Thirty-six."  
He didn't understand the word, he'd long lost the energy to listen anymore. It was the following silence rather than the word itself that slowly brought home the fact that it was over.  
There was only one coherent thought in his head: They ruined my tattoo.  
The silence continued, and Raphael turned his head to see what was going on, groaning quietly when the movement pulled at the wounds near his neck. Izar handed the whip back to Syracuse. The leather was dripping blood.  
"The offender has taken his punishment, the first part of his penance has been made. To really show repentance, he will not be allowed to heal his wounds, but forced to bear them for a time to come. Ms. Lawrence, if you would be so kind."  
A grey haired, middle-aged woman in a business suit approached them. She raised her hands and started an incantation in a language Raphael had never heard before. When she was finished, heat seemed to wash over his back, tracing every individual cut. The woman turned and disappeared into the already dispersing crowd.  
Izar reached up to undo the shackle on his side. Someone else did the same with the other, but he couldn't find the energy to turn his head to see who it was. Izar and the unknown second took his arms, supporting him only slightly as they marched him out of the room. Raphael had to concentrate hard on walking and staying upright. He still couldn't think straight, the world around him only reached him in splinters through the pain. The babble of voices from the hall disappeared. The light changed, becoming muted when they walked through a corridor. The people on either side of him supported him more strongly now.  
"I'm beginning to understand what you saw in him", the person to his right said. He knew the voice. Female... deep... slow. Agatha. She went on. "That was quite remarkable. He is tough. He did not give in to Frenzy, he stayed on his feet. He even kept quiet."  
"Didn't", he rasped out. Agatha looked down him, almost smiling. "Yes you did. In a way. I have seen others take that punishment. Most start screaming with the first lash and never stop until they pass out. You held yourself quite well, little brother." They went through another door and Raphael saw they were on a park deck.  
"Which car did you come in?" Agatha asked.  
"The Mustang. I don't have another at the moment." Izar frowned down on his Child. "It hasn't got a backseat to speak of. That won't be a pleasant ride."  
"I will give you two a lift. My SUV has plenty of space for him to lie down." She let go of him to get her car, and Raphael unashamedly leaned his whole body against Izar's. His Sire braced himself, easily supporting the kid's weight. He looked down.  
"You really did well. I'm proud of you", he said in a low voice. Raphael glowed inwardly at the praise. Izar's opinion mattered to him, a lot. Maybe he could tell him again when he was a bit more attentive again.  
Agatha stopped her monster of a ride beside them. She and Izar openend the back doors and laid him on the backseat, which was easily wide enough for him to lie outstreched in his stomach. They tried not to jostle him, but it simply wasn't possible.  
"Ow", he said, quite distinctly, but it wasn't until Agatha hid a pothole on the way home that he finally passed out.

* * *

Izar stood leaning against the door frame, watching Raphael. The youngster was straddling a chair, backwards, his chin on the backrest, watching a movie. It was how he had spent every night since the whipping, watching television or movies, or listening to music. Anything to provide distraction from the pain.  
"Any news on how long it's gonna be?"  
Izar started. He had assumed Raphael hadn't noticed him yet.  
"No", he said, coming into the room. "And I don't think there will be until the day they finally take the spell off of you."  
"Figures. Keep me on tenterhooks to make it worse. Well, at least I can sleep."  
"What do you mean?"  
The kid looked at him, moving only his eyes, not his head. "You've never really been in pain in your life, have you? Injuries like that, you wouldn't be able to sleep unless you were totally exhausted. While me, I drop soon as the sun rises. Even better, I don't have to breathe - unless I wanna talk - and with lashes like that, even breathing would hurt."  
Izar, now fully in view, smiled and looked up to the ceiling.  
"Thank the Lord. I will be spared your insolent tongue for the remainder of the punishment, for the most part at least."  
Raphael decided not to grace that remark with a comment. After a while though, another thought occured to him.  
"Did you know that you would be the one to lash me? Before that day, I mean?"  
Izar looked away. He had hoped Raphael would have forgotten about that. "Well, yes, I did. For a few days."  
"Why didn't you tell me?" It sounded oddly accusatory.  
"I didn't want to weigh you down."  
"With what? With the knowledge that instead of that brute of a Sheriff or that Syracuse guy, it would be you to hit me? Someone I could trust? Someone that at least wouldn't enjoy that? Yeah, right, sure as hell wouldn't have wanted to know that."  
Izar's eyebrows rose. "That's how you see that?" he asked, bewildered. "Gods above. I thought you would resent it if I hurt you. Would have been bad enough to deal with it afterwards, I didn't want to add any stress before the punishment."  
Now it was Raphael's turn to look surprised. "So that's why you didn't meet my eyes then. Sheesh, Gabriel, it's not like you had a choice. You didn't whip me 'cause you thought it would be fun, but because you had to. I won't hold that against you."  
"How could anyone think something like that fun?"  
Raphael shot him a look that after a while he identified as pitying.  
"Goes to show what you know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title:
> 
> Fjodor Dotojewski's book of the same title.


	11. Character description

Raphael is five feet nine and weighs around 150 pounds.  
He has blond, shoulder length dreadlocks, green eyes and an assortment of piercings.  
He mostly wears cargo pants and hoodies and is rarely seen without his skateboard.  
He died at the age of seventeen.

I imagine him looking like the pro skater Tosh Townend when he was younger, but with dreads as long as he had as an adult.


End file.
